


word of mouth

by annejumps



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Charles You Slut, Charles in a Wheelchair, Charles is helpful, F/M, M/M, Pre-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-15 04:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13605351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: There might be a secret reason Charles is so popular with Westchester society.





	word of mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [widgenstain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/widgenstain/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [widgenstain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/widgenstain/pseuds/widgenstain) in the [xmenrarepairs18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmenrarepairs18) collection. 



> **Prompt:** While Erik raises his happy family in Poland, Charles introduces many, oh so many Westchester high-society ladies to what great cunnilingus feels like. And some of their husbands to prostate massages.

“Don’t let on that I’ve told you, Pamela,” Cynthia said _sotto voce_ , conspiratorial and smiling over her champagne flute, “but he’s _amazing_.” She cocked a manicured brow, under her high, smooth, perfectly coiffed and highlighted blonde hair. “If you take my meaning.” She slid her tongue along the seam of her lips, pointed.

Although it took her a moment, when it hit her, Pamela felt her brows shoot up. “Really? Xavier?”

“Mm-hmm.” Cynthia nodded, and downed the rest of her champagne. “Helen Sagamore clued me in; she heard from Beverly Samms. I just had to find out for myself! One might assume from his being in that wheelchair that he’s inadequate, but let me assure you, that’s _not_ the case.” She winked, and then, looking around the ballroom, she brandished her now-empty glass. “Now, where did that waiter go? I simply must have more of this!” she remarked.

As the event wore on, Pamela found she couldn’t stop thinking about what Cynthia had told her.

Sampling the canapes, she could hear Xavier holding court with a group of admirers gathered around him, glued to his every word. This was a fundraiser for his school, so of course he was the center of attention, but when she looked at him now she couldn’t help picturing his lushly-haired head between her thighs, her long nails scratching at his scalp. 

Richard didn’t do that anymore, to be frank, and when he had, he hadn’t seemed particularly interested. In fact, he complained more often than not. It was something no one seemed to talk about, so it hadn’t been on Pamela’s mind, and she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it. And wanted it done properly.

Well, she might as well find out for herself. Like Cynthia Wells, Helen Sagamore, and Beverly Samms had. They weren’t any more worthy than she was, after all.

She hadn’t spoken to him yet tonight. Deciding the best approach was a chummy, warm one, she downed the rest of her champagne and glided over to his group, joining in with the laughter as appropriate until the group gradually started to disband. He was quite handsome, she reflected, although she supposed she’d always thought that.

“Charles! How wonderful to see you tonight,” she trilled, placing a hand on his arm, which necessitated a bit of bending down, which allowed him a generous view of her cleavage, bounding out of her peach-colored sequined dress. He did in fact look—a gentlemanly glance—and she smiled, pretending not to notice. “And what a wonderful event you’ve put on. We always enjoy your events so much.” 

“Thank you, Pamela, that’s very gratifying to hear,” Charles—she might as well think of him as Charles now—said, with his lovely accent.

“But I was wondering if I could have your ear for a moment, about a pet cause that’s quite dear to me,” she said, straightening up and taking a deep breath, looking concerned. “Could we meet in one of these side rooms?”

“Right now?” Charles asked, looking surprised. “I suppose I could break away, yes…. Could I ask what the cause is?”

“Oh, wonderful. Well, it’s very close to my heart,” Pamela said, picking a side room off the ballroom floor and heading toward it, prompting Charles to roll after her. 

Once in the room, alone with Charles, spotting a table along the wall she went over and sat on it, crossing her legs—thank goodness she was wearing this long dress with the high leg slit, almost all the way up to her hip—and looking at him expectantly.

“Yes?” Charles prompted, wheeling up close to her, expression still open and interested, hands folded in his lap now that he’d come to a stop—he apparently hadn’t cottoned on yet. Funny thing for a man who was supposedly a very powerful psychic. Perhaps he really didn’t listen to people’s thoughts, the way they all suspected he did. She supposed there was no way of knowing for sure. 

Pamela kept looking at him, saying nothing, and then, heady from the champagne, she uncrossed her legs and placed her spike heel on one of his armrests. His brow creased, the realization visually hit him and his face relaxed into a chuckle. “Pamela, really,” he chided.

“Oh, please, Charles,” Pamela purred. “I’ve heard you’re good.”

“That’s not quite the reputation I wanted to have in this community,” Charles quipped, but there was an entirely different look in his eyes now—a heated one.

“Isn’t it?” she countered.

“I’d have hoped my philanthropy—”

“This is a good deed, Charles.” She put her other heel on the other armrest. He looked down at her. In response to his raised eyebrow, she added, “I don’t usually wear it with dresses like this. Not in such warm weather.”

“Ah,” Charles said, reaching for the material of her long dress and moving it back out of the way. “You didn’t lock the door, did you?”

Mouth dry, she blinked. “No.” The thought of someone barging in and seeing Charles with his head between her legs sent a bolt of arousal through her. She knew he’d no doubt use his ability to keep anyone from entering, but still….

“It’s fine,” he said, rolling forward further, and she leaned back on her elbows, watching him as he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, midway up or down as the case may be. A gentle one. Followed by another one just a bit further in. Oh God, he was a tease. She took a shuddering breath. 

She had to close her eyes at the rest of the little kisses; when his tongue finally touched her, she was nearly taken by surprise and almost panting with anticipation, a small moan escaping her.

His tongue glided over her, the entire territory, no hesitation or tentativeness, just steady attention, and then again. God. His hands rested on her thighs, keeping her legs spread, not that it was needed. She felt exposed, like there was no hiding from him, not from his tongue or his lips or even the gentle nips of his teeth. When his tongue slid into her, she cried out, feeling lightheaded, fingernails scraping the table. A few strokes of that, and he next sucked gently but firmly at her clitoris, winning himself more gasping cries; when his tongue entered her next she slid onto her back, her fingers going to mindlessly tug at his hair. 

Those strokes, so thorough and uncompromising, had her on the verge of a serious peak, as the tremors he’d been giving her before had brought her close but not quite there; when he slid out to suck at her clitoris again, she barely recognized the sound of her own voice as she cried out, the peak slamming into her and making her tremble violently, chest heaving.

After what felt like ages, she raised her head to look at him, blinking and dazed. Raising his head as well and pulling his hair from her grasp in the process, he smiled, licking her taste from his lips with a delicacy and discretion that didn’t hide his enjoyment of her. 

“I’ll have to thank C— my friend,” she gasped out.

\-------

The guests had gone, the servants were cleaning up, and Charles started to make his way back to his rooms. He was exhausted, to be sure, but he wasn’t surprised or dismayed to see Richard Standford in the hall outside, hands in the pants of his tuxedo pockets, obviously trying to look casual.

“Richard! Lovely to see you again. Where’s Pamela?” he said, as if he hadn’t just helped her pull her dress back down and subsequently went with her back to the party, her on slightly wobbly legs and still a bit flushed. As if her taste wasn’t still on his lips.

“She felt ill and took the car back early,” Richard told him, moving to stride alongside him as he rolled down the hall, still intending to head toward his rooms, if his hunch about Richard was right. 

“I’m sorry to hear that. Lovely woman,” Charles said. “What can I help you with?”

Richard cleared his throat. “Well. Charles…. If you recall, last time we talked you were talking about—”

“—Prostate health,” Charles finished. “Yes, of course. You wanted to see the device I was talking about?”

“Yes,” Richard said, looking relieved to not have to say so. Charles took a discreet scan of his surface thoughts.

“Would you like a hands-on demonstration?” Charles asked, voice low, looking unwaveringly at Richard as they kept forward.

Richard nearly tripped over his own feet. “Uh, yes, if you could,” he said. “I’d like to observe whether there are any differences from… from your manual stimulation.”

“Of course.”

As it had been the time before, it was easy to get Richard bent over his desk, tuxedo pants around his ankles, with Charles’ favorite new toy lodged firmly in his bum, Charles’ hand gripping it. 

He was every bit as noisy as Pamela as the device pressed against his prostate; perhaps noisier, gasping out incoherent groans into Charles’ desk blotter as his hands scrambled. When he came, cock untouched, his low shuddering groan echoed throughout the study. Yes, definitely noisier…. 

Charles let himself feel what Richard felt, as he had with Pamela. As he did with all of them, really. Getting off on his own could be a hassle, not that he didn’t go to the trouble from time to time, and the unique pleasure of feeling someone else’s orgasm couldn’t be beat.

“Well,” a cleaned up and still-breathless Richard said later, fastening his flies again, “I’ll have to think Gary later for sending me to you about prostate health. You certainly know what you’re doing.”

“Of course. Anytime,” Charles said, with a smile. “Give my regards to Pamela, won’t you?” He felt a pang of guilt, given that neither of them knew this was happening, but after all, they’d each suggested it to them of their own volition. He couldn’t help what the whisper network were saying.

Perhaps one day he’d gently introduce to Pamela, psychically or otherwise, the concept of giving Richard a little bit of bum play. It might keep them together, and she might be willing to do it. She was a bit kinky, that one. 

However, at the same time, Richard had no real genuine interest in pleasing his wife the way Charles had earlier that evening; it was, Charles supposed, a real impasse, and he reckoned things might just have to continue on like this for a while. 

If he could make room in his schedule; honestly, it was getting a bit ridiculous.


End file.
